The fact that they both knew would never stop them pretending they did not. It was, then, almost a shock when M himself mentioned it.
The months immediately prior to Bond receiving the news of his legacy had been dull with routine. He always found the paperwork part of his job debilitating and boring, but that summer - now eighteen months ago was particularly irksome, especially as he had taken all his leave early, a mistake which condemned him to day after day of files, memos, directives and other people's reports. As so often happened in Bond's world there was absolutely nothing - not even a simple confidential courier job - to alleviate the drudgery of those hot months.
Then, early in the following November, came the legacy. It arrived in a thick manila envelope with a Sydney postmark, falling literally out of the blue with a heavy plop through his letter box.
The letter was from a -firm of solicitors who for many years had acted for the younger brother of Bond's father, an uncle whom Bond had never seen. Uncle Bruce, it appeared, had died a wealthy man, leaving every penny of his estate to his ~ nephew James, who hitherto had enjoyed little private money. Now his fortunes were drastically changed.
The whole settlement came to around a quarter of a million sterling. There was one condition to the will. Old Uncle Bruce had a sense of humour and decreed that his nephew should spend at least ?100,000 within the first four months, in 'a frivolous manner'.
Bond did not have to think twice about how he might i best comply with such an eccentric proviso. Bentley motor cars had always been a passion, and he had sorely w resented getting rid of the early models which he had owned, driven and loved. During the last year he had lusted after the brand new Bentley Mulsanne Turbo.
< When the will was finally through probate, he took himself straight down to Jack Barclay's showrooms in Berkeley Square and ordered the hand-built car - in his old favourite colour, British Racing Green, with a magnolia interior.
One month later, he visited the Rolls-Royce Car Division at Crewe and spent a pleasant day with the Chief Executive. He explained that he wanted no special technology built into the car apart from a small concealed weapon compartment and a long-range telephone which would be provided by the security experts at C.C.S. The Mulsanne Turbo was delivered in the late spring, and Bond, having put down the full price with the order, was happy to get rid of the remaining ?30,000 plus by spending it on friends, mainly female, and himself in a spree of high living such as he had not enjoyed for years.
But 007 was not so easily brought out of the doldrums.
He longed for some kind of action - a craving that he tried to curb with too many late nights, the excitement of the gaming tables, and a lukewarm affair with a girl he had known for years; a small romance that sputtered out like a candle flame after a few months. His period of lotus-eating failed miserably to remove the unsettled edgy sense that his life had lost both purpose and direction.
There was one week, in the late spring, when he found some pleasure with the Q Branch Armourer, Major Boothroyd, and his delectable assistant Q'ute, testing a handgun the Service was toying with using on a regular basis. Bond found the ASP 9mm, a combat modification of the 9mm Smith & Weston, to be one of the most satisfying weapons he had ever used. But then the ASP had been constructed to specifications supplied by the United States Intelligence and Security Services.
In the middle of August, when London was crowded with tourists, and a torpor appeared to hang over the Regent's Park Headquarters, there was a summons from M's secretary, the faithful Miss Moneypenny, and Bond found himself in his chief's office, with Bill Tanner in attendance. It was here, on the ninth floor, overlooking the hot, dusty park, that M surprised Bond by bringing up the matter of the Australian legacy.
Moneypenny was far from her usual, flirtatious self while Bond waited in the outer office. She gave the distinct impression that, whatever the cause of M's summons, the news could not be good. The feeling was heightened once he was allowed into the main office. Bill Tanner was present, and both the Chief-of-Staff and M looked wary, M's eyes not even meeting Bond's and Tanner hardly turning to acknowledge his presence.
'We have a pair of Russian ambulance chasers in town,' M stated baldly and without emphasis once Bond was seated in front of his desk.
'Sir.' There was no other possible response to this opening gambit.
'New boys to us,' M continued. 'No diplomatic cover, French papers, but definitely high quality ambulance chasers.' The Head of Service was talking about Russian operatives whose specific task was to recruit potential informants and double agents.
'You want me to put them on the first aircraft back to Moscow, sir?' Bond's spirits rose a little, for even that simple chore would be better than sitting around the office shuffling papers.
M ignored the offer. Instead he looked at the ceiling.
'Come into money, 007? That's what I hear.'
'A small legacy Bond found himself almost shocked by M's remark.
M raised his eyebrows quizzically, muttering, 'Small?'
'The ambulance chasers are high-powered professionals.' Bill Tanner spoke from the window. 'They've both had some success in other parts of the world - Washington, for instance - though there's never been hard evidence. Washington and Bonn. These fellows got in very quietly on both occasions, and nobody knew about them until it was too late. They did a lot of damage in Washington. Even more in Bonn.'
'The orders to expel arrived after the birds had flown, M interjected.
'So, now you know they're here in the U.K. and you want some solid evidence?' An unpleasant thought had crept into Bond's mind.
Bill Tanner came over, dragging a chair with him so that he could sit close to Bond. 'Fact is, we've got wind at an early stage. We presume they think we don't know about them. Our brothers at Five have been cooperative for once 'They're here and active then?' Bond tried to remain calm, for it was not like M or Tanner to beat about the bush.
'You want hard evidence?' he asked again.
Tanner took in a deep breath, like a man about to unburden his soul. 'M wants to mount a dangle,' he said quietly.
'Tethered goat. Bait,' M growled.
'Me?' Bond slipped a hand into his breast pocket withdrawing his gunmetal cigarette case.
'By all means' said M in acknowledgment that Bond might smoke, and he lit one of his H. Simmons specials, bought in bulk from the old shop in the Burlington Arcade where they were still to he had.
'Me?' Bond repeated. 'The tethered goat?'
'Something like that.'
'With respect, sir, that's like talking of a woman being slightly pregnant. He gave a bleak smile. 'Either I'm to be the bait, or I'm not.
'Yes.' M cleared his throat, plainly embarrassed by what he was about to suggest. 'Well . . . it really came to us because of your your little windfall.' He stressed the word 'little'.
'I don't see what that's got to do with it . . 'Let me put a couple of questions to you.' M fiddled with his pipe. 'How many people know you've er, come into money?'
'Obviously those with need-to-know in the Service, sir.
Apart from that only my solicitor, my late uncle's solicitor and myself. 'Not reported in any newspapers, not bandied about, not public knowledge?'
'Certainly not public knowledge, sir.' M and Tanner exchanged glances. 'You have been living at a somewhat extravagant pace, 007,' said M, scowling.
Bond remained silent, waiting for the news to be laid on him. As he had thought, it was not good.
Tanner took up the conversation. 'You see, James, there's been some talk. Gossip. People notice things and the word around Whitehall is that Commander Bond is living a shade dangerously - gambling, the new Bentley, er. . . ladies, money changing hands 'So?' Bond was not going to make it any easier for them.
'So, even our gallant allies in Grosvenor Square have been over asking questions - they do, when a senior officer suddenly changes his habits.'
'The Americans think I'm a security risk?' Bond bridled.
'Damned cheek.' M rapped on the desk. 'Enough of that, 007. They have every right to ask. You have been acting the playboy recently, and that kind of thing always makes them suspicious.'
'And if they get touchy, then there's no knowing what thoughts are running through the minds of those
